


Friendly Neighborhood Fullmetal

by artenon



Series: RoyEd Week 2017 [3]
Category: Fullmetal Alchemist - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Superheroes/Superpowers, Developing Relationship, Humor, Identity Porn, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-23
Updated: 2017-08-22
Packaged: 2018-12-18 20:35:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,411
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11882322
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/artenon/pseuds/artenon
Summary: Ed's life was already hard enough balancing being Fullmetal, the mysterious vigilante who can manipulate metal, and the work-partner-slash-favorite-tool of Winry Rockbell, mechanic. Then Roy Mustang, the (objectively handsome) man Ed saved one night, brings his ruined car to Rockbell Mechanics, and Ed's life gets a whole lot more complicated.





	Friendly Neighborhood Fullmetal

**Author's Note:**

> For day 3 of royed week: superhero au!!
> 
> So, my last two fics I finished in advanced. This one I finished today, so I'm worried it's pretty rough around the edges, especially since I didn't even finish it and decided to make it a chaptered fic. Hopefully I'll be able to finish it after royed week ends!!
> 
> Once again, I collabed with my gf. The scene she drew doesn't occur (yet?) in the fic, but it does take place in the same universe, and it's hilarious and I love it so [GO CHECK IT OUT HERE](http://foldedstars.tumblr.com/post/164501355913/)!!
> 
> A final note: Roy and Ed are both walking embarrassments in this fic, and the entire thing is largely self-indulgent silliness, but I hope some of you enjoy it anyway!

“Rockbell Mechanics, how can we assist y—oh, shit,” Ed said.

“Hello,” said the man who had just entered the shop and whom Ed definitely didn’t know or had even seen before, for that matter. His voice was deep and rich and sounded just like Ed remembered. “Is something the matter?”

“Ed just didn’t expect to see someone so famous in our humble little garage, isn’t that right?” Winry said, elbowing him.

Ed wasn’t a fan of Winry talking to him like he was a child, but he supposed he could forgive it because his brain was going into panic mode. “Uh,” he said. He tugged on his jumpsuit, making extra-sure that it fully covered his right automail shoulder. “Yep.”

The man—and Ed only barely knew him, really, he didn’t even know his name—laughed, and Ed’s stomach somersaulted.

“I don’t think I qualify as famous, but it’s reassuring to be recognized. Perhaps I have a chance in the upcoming election after all.”

“I’m sure you didn’t come here to campaign, Mr. Mustang,” Winry said wryly, and honestly, thank God she was here to do damage control because Ed’s brain still hadn’t quite rebooted. He could actually see the shift of her shoulders and the way she straightened her back to go into full Customer Service Mode. If she was freaking out even a little bit about this Mustang guy being in their shop, he couldn’t tell at all. “I’m Winry Rockbell, how can I assist you?”

Mustang inclined his head. “My car took quite a beating last night. I honestly didn’t think it was salvageable, but I’ve heard you’re a miracle worker as far as mechanics go.”

“Oh,” Winry said with her patented Customer Service Laugh, “you flatterer. Why don’t you show us the damage and we’ll see what we can do?”

Mustang turned to lead them out the shop front and Ed grabbed Winry’s arm.

“Who the hell is he?” he hissed into her ear.

Winry stared at him. “What do you mean, _who_?” she hissed back. “He’s the guy you saved last night!”

“Obviously, but how do you know his name? Who the fuck is he?”

“Oh, my God.” Winry slapped her palm to her forehead. “Roy Mustang, the politician that’s been all over the news lately? He’s running for mayor.”

“Pardon me,” Roy Mustang said, and Winry jumped guiltily.

Ed shrugged, which Mustang could choose to take as an apology if he wanted. Ed didn’t care either way, which Winry loved to remind him was a terrible attitude to have in the service industry, but it was barely eight in the morning and the stranger Ed had saved the night previous as his vigilante alter ego was here with his busted car which Ed may have had a part (but only, like, fourteen percent) in busting. It was too early for this shit.

He and Winry looked at the car and pretended it was their first time seeing the sleek black Maserati. The entire left side was riddled with bullet holes. The windows all around the car, if they weren’t completely missing like the driver side window, had matching holes. The front passenger door was also gone and there was a sizeable dent of questionable origin in the hood.

“Wow,” Ed said. “Whatever happened must have sucked.”

Winry elbowed him again.

“An attempt on my life would qualify as ‘sucking,’ yes,” Mustang said with a sardonic smile. “But I’m just thankful I got out of the situation unharmed.”

Ed had no idea if he should pretend to be interested, or if that would be conceited, even if Mustang didn’t know.

“Have you heard of the vigilante they’re calling ‘Fullmetal’?” Mustang asked.

Well. Might as well bite.

“Sure, we’ve seen some stuff in the news,” Ed said. “Are you saying you met him?”

“Yes, I’d likely be dead if not for him. The rumors that he can manipulate metal at will are true, if you were wondering.” He gestured to his car’s missing door. “My door was sacrificed to be a shield. I was hoping you could replace that if nothing else. And perhaps replace the windows with bulletproof glass. I’m not sure if the rest is salvageable.”

Winry circled the car, tapping her finger to her chin, which was entirely for show, because the pair of them could fix anything.

“You think you’ll be attacked again?” Ed asked Mustang. He wasn’t sure how he felt about potentially having to tail the guy for the foreseeable future.

That was a lie. He knew how he felt: apprehensive. What he didn’t know was _why_. Sure, last night had been a lot of goons with guns, but it hadn’t been a particularly hard fight. None of them had had superpowers, and Ed hated those fights the most.

“I’m unfortunately not the most popular person right now, particularly with the various criminal organizations in this city,” Mustang said, lifting one arm in a careless shrug. “Don’t worry, my personal assistant will ensure that you’re still paid should I meet an untimely demise.”

“Geez, you’re morbid,” Ed said, aghast. He didn’t know how Mustang could act so casual about the whole thing. Maybe he was still in shock from last night; he’d certainly been terrified then.

Winry cleared her throat. “We can have this car looking like new for you and install bulletproof windows all around, Mr. Mustang. Just give us a week.”

Mustang was unable to mask his surprise. “Well—I mean, that’s great. Fuery was right; you two are miracle workers.”

“Oh, Fuery’s great,” Ed said, glad for the familiar ground. Kain Fuery was a regular tinkerer and came in when he had something even he couldn’t fix. He and Winry would geek out about mechanics and Ed would be spared listening to Winry’s gushing about gears and whatever for a day.

Winry nodded in emphatic agreement, eyes sparkling. “Please thank him for recommending us to you. And tell him to drop by again soon!”

“I will,” Mustang promised. He was looking at Ed an awful lot despite Winry being the shop’s owner.

Well, they were partners, but it was Winry’s name on the door and she was obviously the one in charge. But Mustang kept looking at Ed all…assessing-like.

Ed didn’t like it one bit. He might be suspicious about Fullmetal’s true identity, though Ed had no idea what might give him away. It couldn’t be his voice, because he had a voice modulator; or his face, because he wore a hood. Could it be the way he moved? The way he talked?

Ed’s kinesthetic sense went into overdrive, hyperaware of where each body part was, and suddenly even his arms hanging at his side felt awkward.

“Well then,” Winry said, perhaps sensing that Ed was having a crisis of body beside her, or perhaps just wanting to move business along, “why don’t you give Ed the keys so he can take the car into the garage, and we can go into my office to discuss the costs?”

Mustang acquiesced and Ed was granted sweet, sweet freedom from his presence. He threw himself in the car as Winry and Mustang disappeared back into the shop and took it to the garage. He double-checked that the motorcycle he used for his costumed jaunts was completely covered by the tarp, just in case.

Instead of going back to the main store, he raced to the duplex next door, past the automail clinic at the front of the first floor and to the kitchen in the back. “Alphonse!”

Al paused in typing something on his laptop and looked up. “Brother? What’s up?”

“You know the guy I saved last night?”

“Roy Mustang?”

“Does everyone know who this guy is except me?” Ed asked the ceiling.

“Read the pages of the newspaper that aren’t about you next time,” Al suggested. “He’s in it almost every day.”

Ed sputtered. “Well—well, anyway. Apparently, he knows Fuery, and Fuery recommended he bring his car here. He is here right now. Talking to Winry in the office.”

Al tilted his head. “Well, as long as he doesn’t recognize you, I don’t see what the problem is.”

“But what if he does?” Ed asked. “I thought I was gonna have a heart attack talking to him just now! I swear his eyes just…see things.”

“Yes, that’s what eyes do, Brother.” Al pushed his wheelchair back from the kitchen table and rolled to a stop in front of Ed. “But really, this isn’t like you. Why does he make you nervous?”

“Uh. Well,” Ed said, because he didn’t actually know.

They were quiet for half a minute, and then Al said, “You know,” in a thoughtful sort of tone that Ed did not trust at all, “even after the danger was over, your heartrate stayed up for a while last night.”

“Oh, did it?” Ed’s voiced cracked mortifyingly. He ignored it.

“Oh, my gosh,” Al said. “You think he’s hot!”

“I—what the hell are you implying, I don’t—I don’t even know him! And he’s like, okay, he’s got a symmetrical face, dark eyes, nice hair, he’s objectively handsome, which means nothing because it’s _objective_. That doesn’t mean I think he’s hot. Why would it matter, anyway, if I did?”

“Because,” Al said, clearly trying to hold back a laugh, and Ed had never hated his beloved little brother more than in this moment, “you get stupid around your crushes.”

“I’m going back next door, goodbye Little Brother,” Ed said, and made his retreat.

 Mustang and Winry were already exiting the mechanics shop, which meant they hadn’t had to negotiate much. Then again, Mustang had a Maserati, so Ed shouldn’t have been surprised he could afford the most expensive mechanic in Central City.

“Excuse me,” Mustang was saying as Ed approached, “I need to call a taxi.”

Winry grabbed Ed’s arm and pulled him into the conversation. “Oh, Ed can give you a ride!”

Ed choked. “Say what?”

Mustang, who already had his phone in his hand, shook his head. “I wouldn’t want to impose—”

“Please, it would be our pleasure,” Winry said, grabbing Mustang’s arm next and dragging the both of them towards the private parking lot in the back. “It’s the least we could do for a customer who’s entrusted his car to us.”

Ah. Winry had pinned Mustang as her new cash cow, and was determined to make sure he became a regular. As if they wouldn’t be getting enough cash from this job alone, fixing that bullet-ridden mess of a car.

Still, Winry would never forgive him if he didn’t go along.

“Yeah, it’s no sweat,” he said.

“That’s very generous of you,” Mustang said. “Thank you.”

“Well, that’s my ride,” Ed said, pointing at one of the three cars in the lot.

“Did you know that traffic police are more likely to pull over a red car than a car that’s another color?” Mustang asked.

Ed shrugged carelessly. “Can’t stop me if they can’t catch me.”

Mustang stared.

“Just kidding. I’m a super safe driver, I swear.” Ed unlocked the doors. “Plus, I’m pretty sure that’s a myth that doesn’t actually hold up statistically.”

He slid into the driver’s seat and Mustang went around to the passenger side. Ed started the engine.

“— _survival is not an academic skill_ ,” a calm voice said. “ _It is learning how to take our differences_ —”

Ed slammed the radio on, cutting off the audiobook. He glanced at Mustang, who smiled politely.

Ed blushed. Fuck.

“You can put your address in the GPS there,” he said, gesturing, “and we can jet.”

They drove in awkward silence for the space of one song. When the radio host started talking about a sweepstakes to win concert tickets, Ed cleared his throat and said, “So, why are people trying to kill you? If you don’t mind my asking.”

Mustang laughed, but it sounded strained. “Where do I start? Two days ago, I gave the police an essential tip that led to the arrest of a high-ranking member of a notorious weapons trafficking gang known as Blue Squad.”

“That explains why your car was shot to shit.”

“Yes, I expected retribution, but not one so swift.” Mustang sighed. “It’s an open secret that the current mayor protects criminals in exchange for money. The money he then uses for various bribes for his personal gain.”

Ed made a vague noise in the back of his throat. “That’s shitty.” He didn’t follow the finer details of politics, only enough to know how corrupt and all-around bad everyone and everything was. Policies were ineffective at worst and slow-changing at best but stopping a crime as it happened was immediate. “I’m guessing you plan to change that if you become mayor?”

“Becoming mayor will be the best way to incite change in the city. I truly believe that.”

Ed wasn’t sure if Mustang was idealistic for believing he could change things for the better or if Ed was cynical for thinking he couldn’t. But still, if he could, it’d be doing a hell of a lot more than stopping petty criminals in the dead of night, and Ed had to admire that.

“Well, you’ve got my vote.” Ed paused. “Uh, if I remember.”

He didn’t have to look to sense the utter disappointment Mustang was radiating in his general direction.

“I know everyone thinks their one vote doesn’t matter, but it does. It’s only when the people care and work to bring the right people into office that they can bring about change.”

“Okay, but you don’t have to be a part of the government to make positive change,” Ed said. “Winry, she also has an automail clinic. You might have seen it next door. She helps a lot of people all the time and it wouldn’t be an exaggeration to say that she’s changed a lot of lives.”

“That’s true,” Mustang said. “I know one person can only do so much, but being in a position of authority and influence means I have the resources to help more people. And that’s still not enough, I know, but the people I help can in turn help others, and so on and so forth.”

“Huh,” Ed said.

“I’m sure it sounds naive and idealistic,” Mustang said, sounding embarrassed. “That’s what my best friend always says. And I know a lot of people don’t trust any politicians these days, which I don’t necessarily blame them for. But I pray for the day that hope overpowers cynicism and apathy, and that the people in power truly work to protect and uplift their citizens.”

“Are you always this intense?” Ed asked, which was only slightly better than admitting that he was charmed by his earnestness.

“I’m sorry,” Mustang said. “I’m…very passionate about this.”

“No, uh, you don’t have to be sorry,” Ed said. “It’s cool. I know I should be more of an active citizen, or whatever.” And not just an active vigilante. “And you’re pretty inspiring, I think.”

Shit. Fuck.

“Thank you,” Mustang said quietly.

They lapsed into a painfully, palpably awkward silence during which Ed hit three red lights in a row, and then the commercials on the radio gave way to _Shut Up and Dance_.

Ed’s hands clenched around the steering wheel. He, Al, and Winry always belted this song whenever it played, but he was in the car with a virtual stranger. He couldn’t. He _couldn’t_.

But God, did he want to. He had to wrestle the urge down like an inner demon, a succubus tempting him with upbeat music and catchy lyrics. Give in, Edward, you know you want to. No, no he didn’t. He musn’t. Think of something else. Anything else. X equals negative B plus or minus the square root of B-squared minus four times AC, all over two times A. Hydrogen, helium, lithium, beryllium…

Halfway through the first verse, a soft hum, barely perceptible above the radio, caught Ed’s attention. He glanced to his right. Mustang was staring out the window, but Ed saw him tapping his finger on his leg to the beat.

Was he, too, tempted by the beast?

Emboldened but still embarrassed as all hell, Ed half-mumbled, half-sang the pre-chorus: “ _She took my arm, I don’t know how it happened…_ ”

He stared determinedly out the window, but he caught Mustang whipping around to stare at him in his periphery.

He kept singing. Mustang joined in on the chorus, singing softly. “ _Oh, don’t you dare look back, just keep your eyes on me…_ ”

By the end of the chorus, they were both singing at something closer to a normal volume, and Ed chanced a look over to Mustang, who was still staring.

Ed grinned, sheepish, and Mustang returned it.

By the end of the second chorus, they were shouting the lyrics. Ed could almost pretend it was Al and Winry in the car with him, if not for Mustang’s deep timbre asserting reality. And yet with how unabashedly he was singing it might as well have been them. The mortification would probably hit after the song ended. Right now, they were both singing so whole-heartedly, they couldn’t talk or even really think about what they were doing, or about the fact that Ed had, without really noticing, started harmonizing to Mustang’s singing.

They sang through the bridge and final chorus and Ed exhaled during the song’s closing beats.

So.

That just happened.

Death would be welcome right now.

Fuck, Mustang was hot and passionate about making the world a better place and he’d just sung _Shut Up and Dance_ with Ed at the top of his lungs like an utter dork. He was perfect. Ed loved him.

This was terrible.

Finally, Ed broke the silence. Technically, the GPS broke the silence, telling him to make a right turn in four hundred feet and then to continue for point three miles and then make a left, but Ed broke the silence that held between him and the other sentient being in the car.

“None of what just transpired between us will ever reach outside ears.”

“I agree wholeheartedly,” Mustang said.

“Cool,” Ed said, and determined not to speak again for the few last minutes of the trip.

“But,” Mustang said, “it was a pleasant experience. Thank you.”

“Holy crap,” Ed said, breaking his oath of silence immediately. “Is that what you say after sex?”

Mustang choked on air and Ed regretted every moment of his life leading up to this moment.

“Would you like to find out?” Mustang asked. And then, “That was terrible. I’m sorry.”

“Damn right it was,” Ed said. “Let’s just stop this conversation now.”

“Good idea. You said Ms. Rockbell has an automail clinic?”

“Yep, she’s the best,” Ed said. He almost said that she was the one who made his automail, but that would be revealing too much, i.e., that he had automail.

“Fullmetal’s right arm is an automail prosthesis,” Mustang said.

“That so?” Ed said.

“Yes, he manipulates it to fight,” Mustang said. “Imagine if he was Ms. Rockbell’s patient and you didn’t even realize.”

“That’d be hilarious,” Ed said, and nearly cried in relief when the GPS said, _your destination is on the right. You have arrived._

“Okay,” Ed said, shifting the car into park. “Here we are. After a totally normal drive where nothing out of the ordinary occurred and all conversation was strictly boring small talk.”

Mustang rolled down the passenger window, got out of the car, and leaned down, resting his arms on the windowsill.

“You just said nothing would reach outside ears,” Mustang said. “I have no intention of forgetting what happened.”

Ed clicked the button to roll the window up, forcing Mustang to step back from the car. After the window closed all the way, Ed opened it halfway again.

“You are so unnecessary. You literally could have said that in the car,” he said.

Mustang smiled at him. “I’ll see you next week, Ed.”

“Yeah,” Ed said, even though he was one hundred percent planning on making sure Winry was the only one in the shop when Mustang came to pick up his car. “See you.”

* * *

 “So, yeah,” Ed said between bites of sandwich, back home seated at the kitchen table with Winry and Al. “I guess Mustang’s kind of a big deal, so I’d better keep an eye on his ass for a while.”

“Specifically his ass, huh, Brother?”

“Shut _up_ , Al!”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!! <3


End file.
